


Bound And Determined

by solitariusvirtus



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Middle Ages
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-02 04:11:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Lyanna Stark might have known better than to jump to the defense of a near stranger. Clearly, ignoring the small voice of reason in the back of her mind might makes for great adventures, which she wants no part of but is nonetheless forced into due to her poor decision making skills.AU! Rhaegar Targaryen didn't expect the distraction of Lady Lyanna. While she complicates matters tremendously, he cannot be too sorry for it.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

Her mother had that look about her, the look which suggested that while she agreed with her daughter, a lady was conscious there were better ways of garnering sympathy other than pleading loudly and belligerently. It was mostly that reaction which prompted her to think over her behaviour and hang her head in apparent shame; not at her initial wish and still-much-cherished purpose, that remained undaunted. Rather, she experienced some embarrassment over the uninhibited response her sire’s refusal had elicited. He could be reasonable, if only she went with the give and take of the game.

In that particular moment, however, he merely put a finger beneath her chin and raised her head until she faced him. “I do not take pleasure in causing you distress, but this interview is at an end. You may retire to your chamber and reflect upon your words, daughter.”

She swallowed. Her lady mother stood, presumably to lead her. Lyanna watched her parents exchange a look. She more or less could decipher its meaning and was, to some degree, pricked by the notion there was little trust in her; and then she told herself it was just as well given her earlier behaviour.

Lady Lyarra Stark took her by the arm, her hand resting just beneath her elbow as though to encourage her steps should she falter. But Lyanna did, in spite of appearances, know when it was time to abandon mulishness. Thus she followed with nary a protest until they were without her father’s solar. “That was ill-done of you,” her lady mother chided.

Lyanna looked at her then. In certain lights, the Wandering Wolf’s daughter showed her age. Still and all, she looked benevolent and wise to her eyes. “He fathered another bastard,” she replied, brittle in spite of her whole heart. “Surely you would not send me to such a man’s home.”

“Just as well that we are not,” the woman replied evenly. “I assure you, Lord Baratheon is the epitome of courteous behaviour.” More’s the pity she was wedding a son who was nothing like the father should her sire have his way. “And Lady Cassana is desirous to see you, dearling.” Her lower lip trembled gently,  a trick designed to pull upon the string of a mother’s heart. “Your brother will be there to protect you.”

Had they sent Brandon with her she might have contemplated taking her chances with the well-travelled roads. Given, however, that Ned would be at her side and Ned, for all the friendship he bore Robert Baratheon, was a strict believer in rules and order, she could be certain there was no threat to her virtue. Her sanity she would find some other manner to guard.

“I will not wed him.” She had been saying that for about as long as they’d told her of the possibility. Lyanna was not insensitive to the small steps they took in getting her used to the notion; she was also well-aware of the danger such attempts presented. She did not wish to wake one day and think to herself that it would not be quite that bad to be wed to Robert Baratheon. She could live with not quite that bad.

* * *

 

“Benjen, you scamp!” She glowered at her brother, almost ready to jump at his throat. Unfortunately, the wheelhouse she’d been placed into was not the kind to accommodate more than one body to great comfort. And to her utter shame, she was well past the age where she and her poor, beleaguered brother amounted to about one fully grown body. “Mother shall be so very cross.”

“Brandon will explain.” Just as soon as he managed to tear himself away from the very enticing embrace of one female body or another. “And if by chance he doesn’t manage to, I have left word to father, in his solar.”

“How pleased the good maester would be to know you finally took some time to practice your penmanship. Albeit, I imagine the rest of the household will not be equally pleased with the content of the missive.” She forced her frown into an easy smile. “You’re worse than a scamp.”

“True enough. I am a concerned brother.” She almost laughed. She did love Benjen; truly and wholly. But the gods knew she could not take him seriously what with his height still being just below hers. His gaze sharpened on her. “Go on, laugh if you will.” She did. “I will remember this.”

To placate him, she reached out and pressed his hands with hers. “There is nothing you could do than please me more. But I must ask, what shall we tell Ned, who, too, has fashioned himself into a protector of sorts?”

“The truth, I imagine. I shall sleep in your bedchamber and he just on the stairs.” The notion tickled her some. But she refused with a shake of the head. “Come now, we cannot all three of us fit in a single bed.”

“I daresay we are well past that age where we may share a bedchamber no matter how strong our blood ties.” She let go of his hands and placed them back into her lap, adopting a demure position for his sake s much as hers. “And I am certain no one would dare take advantage given the presence of not one, but two of my brothers. I shudder to think of what would happen were all three of you with me.”

“I thought you did not wish to attract the man’s attention.” She frowned. Benjen mirrored her expression. “Allow some leeway, sister dearest; I am not a young maiden, after all.”

“I don’t. It doesn’t mean I do not wish for any man’s attention. This specific one, however, I wish to firmly encourage into a different direction altogether.” He nodded but from the look on his face she could well understand he was none too pleased. Benjen, as he’d said, was no maiden and thus she did make some allowance for that.   

“Well then, just point me into the right direction and I promise to lead him most faithfully.” Mischief shone in the boy’s eyes. “Be it into the sea or over some cliffs.” Lyanna gasped and chided him.

“I do not encourage murder. A good dunking, might be, though.”  

* * *

 

“Riders.” Apt as the observation was, even someone half as clever as her brother would have been able to tell as much. Lyanna shot him a dry look before she lifted the door of the wheelhouse enough to slip without. It was a most peculiar and rickety wheelhouse, it had to be said, built in a manner more acceptable to generations past. She contented herself with managing a somewhat graceful exit.

Not so graceful was the slacked-jawed response to the presence of someone she’d not thought to see again. But there he was. For a brief moment she thought her eyes might be playing tricks, for he was truly a sight she would fain have in her vision. But nay, it seemed she was truly destined to partake in elevate company.

“I have to say, I was not expecting the Crown Prince to accompany us on this journey.” She whirled around at the sound of her brother’s voice. “

“You had best keep out of the way,” she scowled at him. Last her brother kept at her side in the presence of the other man she was ended up making a rather foolish decision. And while she had decided, for her own good, not to put too much store in a few smiles and an understanding glance, her heart beat just a little faster as the Prince dismounted.

He’d not changed overmuch during the time they’d been apart. Which said very little truly. They did not in fact know one another. In that respect, Lyanna had to repeat the words to herself a time or two, as he approached.

“Lady Lyanna,” he greeted, inclining his head instead of bowing. She supposed that did not excuse her from executing a perfect curtsy, which she did, for poor manners were inexcusable and her mother would have her by the ear should she ever hear of it. And she would, as Benjen watched the exchange with rapt attention. “And young Benjen.” Her brother jumped down, stepping closer to her. He bowed, somewhat awkwardly seeing as he was, at the same time, busying himself with twisting his fingers into the back of her skirts. Her brother was just a child. His actions, a clear reminder of that, helped him climb right back into her graces. “I understand you are undertaking a journey. Might be you would consent to sharing the road.”

It was the road of the King. Certainly he did not need to ask after her wishes. Lyanna blinked, feeling her face heat with a flush. “The road is wide enough, certainly.” There, that would hopefully not give him any access to the thrill his proposition brought.

It was only then that she allowed herself to truly look at him. Or rather at the rest of him. He wore a non-distinctive suit of armour, as opposed to the tourney, and he also failed to display any markings of his house upon it. Forcing a smile to her lips she glanced back at his face and hoped he’d break the silence for her.   

He didn’t. But neither did they remain in conversation for the intimacy was broken by the arrival of another familiar face. Ser Arthur Dayne smiled blithely, the expression perfectly odd yet perfectly in place. She could not help but be grateful at his intervention. “So we are to have travelling companions, are we?” He stared at her, assessing in an insolent manner. She felt her brother tense at her side but paid him little mind. Ser Arthur meant nothing by it, she knew. “Lady Lyanna, how well you look.”

She doubted it. The scant space in the wheelhouse aside, her hair was a mess, escaping the simple braid she had done her best to force it into. Her kirtle was slightly rumpled in spite of the fact she’d done her best to remain still and not disturb it.  And she hadn’t even the cover of night to aid her. A soft sigh almost escaped her lips as such small details became apparent to her. “You, ser, are an inveterate flirt.” She lowered her gaze, demurely. “I appreciate the compliment nonetheless.”

“My dear lady,” the knight said warmly, clearly warming to the subject, “pray allow me to further gladden you.” She was about to protest, only too conscious of other eyes resting upon her, not the last of which was her father’s trusted Vayon Poole, who would rattle everything back to her father.

“Leave it, Dayne,” the Prince cut in sharply. Lyanna was not perfectly certain as to the reason behind it, but it saved her sure enough, thus she rewarded the man with a smile. His expression remained calm. “I should hate for you to wear your welcome thin.”

“It would not be so dire as all that.”

* * *

 

“Shall I write to father and make your excuses?” Lyanna stared uncomprehendingly at her brother. “Clearly you would rather ride off to see ruins than make your way to Storm’s End.” She almost retaliated.

“You shan’t goad me, brother mine.” She did, in fact, want to spend her time with the Prince. Unfortunately, she could not in good conscience do so until after she had reaffirmed for her father that she had no wish at all to be mistress of Storm’s End, least of all at Robert’s side. After that, she supposed she would be free to look into another match.

“I am not trying to goad you.” That certainly came as a surprise to her. “But I’m not blind. You can’t expect me to pretend I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“On the contrary, I expect you to be blind, deaf and dumb,” Lyanna snapped. She could not afford to be otherwise. Not at present, in any event. Her eyes narrowed upon her brother’s face.

* * *

 

Her neck hurt. Her back hurt. Her poor backside hurt even more. Lyanna winced. She’d not been able to sleep what with the fact that everything was stiff and achy from hours of sitting uncomfortably in that blasted wheelhouse. Moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes and she wiped blindly away. Unable to sit still a moment longer, she crawled her way without the tent, leaving Benjen snoring away.

Without, soft predawn light glossed over the treetops. She stretched the best she could, biting her lower lip against the pins and needles stabbing at her poor, abused flesh. She jumped at sound of snapping twigs, looking behind her.

From the light shadows, a tall frame emerged. She breathed out in relief when she recognised the Crown Prince. “You gave me a fright,” she managed when he was finally close enough that she did not have to yell the words out. Or even speak loudly. Without even realising it, she smiled.

“That was never my intention.” Once more, his expression lacked anything which might give her a clue as to what he was truly thinking. How was it that a man could express himself so clearly when playing the harp yet lacked even the most basic knowledge of communication? Or seemed to, at any rate.

* * *

 

One of the wheels hit a rut and sent her flying. Lyanna screamed out in frustration, just about ready to tear her hair out when she realised that they’d stopped rather abruptly. It took but a moment to hear the song of steel coming from without, confirming her worst fears. At least she would not be losing her seat on the bench for a short while. Or rather that was what she would be thinking were she that manner of person. Lyanna was not, in fact, the manner of person thus her mind turned to bleeding wounds.

Benjen had about a moment to gather himself and find a weapon before she swept the blasted sliding door out of the way in order to get a better view of what was going on. She should not have, but having done so in spite of many a warning from the quarter of good sense, Lyanna found herself facing a rather daunting prospect. They were not on the winning side. Proof of that was the arrow in Ser Arthur’s shoulder and the fact that Vayon Poole yelled at her to get back to safety.

And she would have, only that she could make out that her brother had climbed out after her and was directing her attention towards the Prince. Fine jouster he might be, but he was clearly overwhelmed by the small, persistent band gathered around him.

Aware that every moment counted in the face of such odds, Lyanna turned to her brother and made a decision she hoped not to regret. “Take a horse and ride away.” Startled, Benjen began protesting as she dragged him back into the wheelhouse. “You little fool, now is not the time to play at being a knight,” she grunted, lifting the seat of the bench in order to pull out a short blade. “Take this. Ride back to small inn and have a raven sent to father.” Digging into the small space she pulled out a few coins, praying they were enough.

Thankfully, Benjen had been blessed with equal amounts brains and mischief and that was enough to see him listening.

Meantime, she set about creating a distraction for him to slip by. Leaving the wheelhouse for a second time, she had but a brief moment to hike her skirts up in a decidedly indecent fashion and take off. As expected, one of the rogues caught her, holding firm. She struggled to no avail.

To hr horror, Vayon Poole barely manage to fend off his enemy before his attention was drawn to her. She could see his lips move in what she assumed was a curse and behind him the Prince faltered, allowing for one of their vile attackers to strike. The blow, coming from some manner of cudgel was enough to lay him down.

Strength she did not know she possessed kicked in and she somehow managed to evade her captor, tearing across the distance. “Don’t kill him!” She could feel many eyes on her as she stumbled to where the Prince was, tugging him close until his head was fairly on her lap. A small gash decorated his temple. “Please,” she glanced up into the face of a clearly amused enemy, “he is my husband.” If he died, her father’s plans would be quite ruined indeed.

The man stirred, apparently not entirely insensible. She felt him burrow deeper into her, rising gently so as to rest his head at level with her chest. In fact pillowed by her chest would be the better description. “What do you seek?”

“What would you be willing to give us?” A few chuckles came, presumably in answer to the question. The Prince tensed but appeared to know when he was outmatched. Lyanna saw Ser Dayne being bound. Some of her father’s men were slowly joining him. The ones she did not see she presumed dead.

Before she could answer, the man was pushed aside by a younger one. “Ulmer, you sod; always thinking with your cock.” He looked down at her. His stare was cold. Lyanna shuddered. Meantime, the Prince had managed to sit. He’d somehow sidled his arm about her shoulders, tugging her into his side and up.

“Do not harm my wife.” He’d put no lady in there, but she rather felt a husband holding his wife in some affection would in the face of such a threat dispense with formalities. She turned her face into his shoulder, or arm rather, hearing one of the fiends call out that they’d searched the wheelhouse.

The clink of coins reached her ears. She could feel her _husband_ breathing. But she could not hide away forever. And she had to see if her brother had managed to make off. Withdrawing reluctantly she glanced about surreptitiously.

“Not a good choice you’ve made there, lady,” the man who’d intervened said after a time. She glanced at him. He held up a bag of coins. “One does wonder how a fine lady came into the hands of so poor a mate.” By that she surmised there was too little coin to satisfy them.

“Such is the fortune of a hedge knight,” Rhaegar cut in. “You’ve all our coin. Surely that is enough.”

“Ah, but I think not.” When she pressed against Rhaegar’s side, her terror was heightened, and it was not a matter of acting but rather of not bursting into tears. He held her firmly, as though he might protect her. She saw the one called Ulmer closing in on her and reaching out. A whimper left her lips. She hoped Benjen managed to reach safety. “Unless,” the voice cut in and Ulmer paused, frowning, “you’ve something better to offer.”

“Ain’t nothing better than a high-flown tart.” That from Ulmer.

“Shut yer gob!” A tall, muscular man took hold of Ulmer’s shoulder and pulled him back.

The one who seemed to be their leader smiled indulgently, as though he were watching children at play. Then his attention turned to Lyanna and her knight. “A hedge knight she might have wedded, but she’s the look of a nobleman’s get. So either tell us whom shall satisfy the price of your freedom or I give your lovely wife to Ulmer here.” He flicked his gaze to his men, amending gently, “and anyone else who might wish a go.”

“Certainly. Lord Stark would be the man you’re seeking.”      

 

    

 

 

 

          


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was pure luck. Rhaegar could not have engineered a more innocent looking occurrence if he’d tried. Which was saying something considering he had given the matter considerable thought. Lyanna Stark had abandoned her wheelhouse and was staring at them with no small amount of curiosity. She looked about the same, if a bit worn by travel, but lovely nonetheless, to his eyes. Sorely tempted to rail at the gods for having put her in his path at the completely wrong moment, he dismounted, making his way to her.

They exchanged words, meaningless sounds, truly. He was more concerned with observing her and to a lesser degree her young brother. The boy had somehow made his way behind her, seeming to grab hold of her skirts. An enviable position, from where Rhaegar stood.

He watched her, unwilling to break the silence for some reason he could not explain even to himself. He knew she grew uneasy by the way she studied him so very seriously and the tentative smile upon her lips. An accomplished mummer she was not. What she was, however, he could not put into words, not when he hadn’t yet accomplished what he set out to do.

Arthur, ever faithful companion, broke the silence as soon as he’d joined them, teasing the poor girl into a heated flush. The colour suffused her skin, its warm glow even more pronounced in the dim light of a balmy day. The weather had been growing colder of late, but as temperatures dipped they allowed for a few last moments of comfort.

* * *

 

Arthur frowned. “This is so very unlike you.” It wasn’t at all comfortable to be under such scrutiny, but given it was his boon companion and denial would not work to his advantage, Rhaegar merely shrugged. The observation was not without merit.

“We can suffer sight delay.” He could do whatever he wanted, or very near so. The knight stared at him, unrelenting, but not without some understanding. “I simply wish to make certain all is well with her.” He didn’t know whether he would see her to the gates of Storm’s End or nay. Steffon Baratheon was a reasonable man, much more so than he at the moment.

“She has her father’s men.” Men who would see to their duty, he did not doubt. But he wasn’t there, with her, for duty’s sake. His face must have shown something of his thoughts for Arthur chuckled, not unkindly. “You ought to put more pressure on her sire. Have you considered the benefits of a royal command?”

“And here I thought it was better to give it time.” She wasn’t indifferent to him. That much he could tell. He’d known at the tourney and knew it when she’d stood before him with her peculiar smiles. He could convince her easily enough of where his affections lie, but her father was another matter altogether and reason was a difficult thing to prove.

“If you shan’t make a move, then we’d best leave them to their journey and see to ours.” It was an eminently reasonable suggestion. And he felt unreasonable for refusing a second time. “At the very least speak to the girl.” Better not to, he thought to himself with a soft shake of the head.

“She might change her mind about Baratheon’s son.” It wasn’t his right to intervene anymore than he should declare himself.

“Do you want to know what I think?” his brother-in-arms asked, by his tone indicating he was clearly more than ready to give him a piece of his own mind. “I think you are afraid. Anyone can change their mind given the right circumstances.” It was his turn to frown. “How reasonable is it, truly, to ask for a single response for all situations?”

“You have me there.” He breathed in the cool air. “But I could not bring myself to force such a union. I’d be no better than a monster then, would I?” Arthur gave an elegant shrug, his expression unreadable beyond a slight pinching which might or might not be annoyance. He seemed to consider his answer with some care before he ventured any words.

In the end, he proved that a white cloak about his shoulders did not impede his gain of knowledge on the strangest of matters, all things considered. “Regard isn’t all there is to a marriage. I was impressed by her actions of the tourney, but neither you, nor I truly know her. You may well find that not all her facets are as pleasing.”

* * *

 

He sat on the stairs, wineskin in hand. He’d been drinking steadily since their arrival. The wine, not particularly fine, warmed the pit of his stomach in bursts after a long road down his throat. Arthur stood one step lower, yawning. “You’ll make yourself ill,” came the warning a moment later. Rhaegar was not and never had been sick from any such brew before, alas, he put the stopper in and set the wineskin by his feet. “Aside from which it shan’t do you any favours to wake both unsatisfied and with a head on the morrow.”

It was a small, cramped inn, boasting few chambers. He might have used rank to his advantage, but he feared that was not an option if he wished to remain more or less unknown. And Lyanna benefited more from a warm featherbed than he.

“Unlike you, I know when to stop.” Arthur pulled a face, disbelief apparent. “You can sleep awhile. I can take first watch.” Along with whoever it was that guarded Lyanna’s chamber. He glanced back to look, but could not match a name to the face he saw.

“It would be a true madman he who thought to approach such a well-protected lady even without us,” his friend pointed out. “But if you wish it, I will take second watch.” He wondered how he would manage to sleep after, then decided there was very little indeed to ponder. It would not be the first time he’d skipped a good night’s sleep.

* * *

 

He stared at the man whose eyes lingered upon Lyanna. The fine tremors could still be felt against his side. Rickard Stark would pay to see his daughter to safety and he hoped the coin came soon, else he feared some would use any perceived hesitation against her. His arm did not slack its hold upon her and she did not pull away. He knew they were worth more alive than dead, at the moment, thus when the enemy approached he did his best to avoid showing his discomfort.

“Lord Stark,” the man muttered. “Rather far away from home.” He smiled then. Without an ounce of humour behind it, the gesture was ghastly. His attention turned to Rhaegar. “If you could tear yourself away from your lady wife for but a moment, I should be most grateful if you removed your armour.”

He did just that, albeit Lyanna remained in his line of sight as one of the highwaymen pulled at the lacing. Worry played upon her face, and were he able to he would have soothed it away. But no matter, he was well aware of why she’d claimed him her husband. And was, in spite of his anger at the situation, grateful. Once removed, the metal was added to a pile. It would undoubtedly fetch some coin as well. Or might be put to use for another.

* * *

 

They sat in the tall, wild grass, her resting against his side. Rhaegar had to marvel at the way in which Lady Lyanna held herself together. Subdued she  certainly was, but so far she’d filled the role of wife credibly, what with doing her best to cleanse his wound and see to his comfort. In the aftermath she listened as he whispered gently, “That was quick thinking.”

“My apologies, ‘twas the best I could come up with on such short notice.” Rather like a cat, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, the difference in height mitigated by their sitting down. He turned until his lips pressed somewhere against still sweet-scented hair.

“Do not stray far from me, dear wife.” She nodded, the movement jerky. His hands had been bound as had hers, but one did not necessarily need the use of hands for what he had in mind. His lips trailed gently until they reached her forehead. Lyanna, with customary wisdom, as he was coming to learn, tipped her head back, giving him her lips, slightly chapped, but warm nevertheless. The gesture was one of comfort. Or he’d meant it as such.

“I do not mean to,” she whispered back before she drew a scant distance away and made herself as comfortable as she could. He focused his attention upon the rest of the camp. Makeshift it might be, but those weapons they carried cut and bludgeoned as well as any other. There was little chance of escape. “What will they do to us?”

“Likely no more than they intimated.” He kept his voice low. One of their captors gave them momentary glance before rushing off. “We’re worthless to them dead. As long as they hope to obtain a goodly ransom, we are safe enough.” One could never be certain, of course, and the number of noblewomen come forth about such an adventure as hers were low indeed. Not, he imagined, that any father or husband would willingly admit to the horror of the experience in company. He could only hope, thus, that the promise of coin would be enough.

Once the company of men had rested, they rode off again, this time until night fell and they were forced to stop. Rhaegar could make out only that they were near some sort of settlement, by the sight of dying crops. The spent the night behind the behind the doors of some type of shed, overcrowded and uncomfortable. But it passed all too soon.

The coming day brought along with it a worrisome discovery. The marauders were splitting off in smaller groups. And unfortunately for Rhaegar, he and Lyanna were separated from the rest, going the way of the crops, towards what he assumed was a village. He did not complain even as his frustration mounted. He could not like that the leader, who had yet to introduce himself, took along Ulmer and that tall fellow who had pulled him back. A forth member made up their party, a slim young man who looked rather sallow.

They’d not quite reached the village when another young man came running up to them, eyes glancing over him and Lyanna. For a brief moment hope flared, but then he started speaking. “Is that them?” The leader nodded. “Don’t look like much to me, but I’ve done as you said.”

“Good man.” That was the extent of their discussion, following which Rhaegar found himself and his _wife_ led to a crude sort of shelter, a rundown barn. It should have kept grain, he did not doubt, but stood empty and unkempt. Their bonds were loosened with a word of warning. He’d not have chanced it against them in any event, not when it seemed they were in league with the locals.

Instead he ushered Lyanna before him, keeping himself between her and the world without until the door creaked and emitted a soft thud behind them. Wood grated on wood. They were well and truly trapped.

With nothing to do, he sat down on the thin blanket of dried straws, resting his back against a pole. “We ought to settle upon the details of our marriage,” he managed after a moment, seeing her looking about the space, lost and not a little uncertain. Her head shot in his direction, understanding coming a moment later. A nod, quite determined, reinforced his good opinion of her as she scrambled to seat herself at his side. One would wish one’s squires were as prompt to answer as the lady. He chased that thought away, settling an earnest gaze upon an equally open face.

“If you are to be a hedge knight, I suggest having met at White Harbor. Quite a few hedge knights about those parts and I did stop briefly returning from Brandon’s wedding.” He nodded. He’d heard of her brother’s marriage, but had not attended the festivities. More’s the pity, as he might have obtained some gainful knowledge for his effort. “That was about three moon turns past,” she indicated, shifting as though to make herself more comfortable. There was very little which would aid her in that, given the state of the floors. “One does wonder when I even found the time to say aye between all that travelling.”

“’Twas a whirlwind courtship.” She giggled, not unlike the young maiden she was, before laughing in earnest. Her hand came up to muffle the sound. Unable to determine any note of hysteria, he let her be. Whatever had amused her so kept her in its grip a moment longer before she managed to wrest control and calm herself enough that only a smile remained.

“Poor father. He must have been horrified.” Rhaegar imagined the man might well be when he learned of her predicament. “He did so cherish the notion I might,” it was there that she stopped, as though realising her words were much too intimate for their brief acquaintance no matter the dire straits they currently faced. A becoming blush surfaced. “No one would doubt the veracity of such a tale, that I can assure you of.”

He did not ask for clarifications. Instead he eyed the entrance of the barn, shushing his companion. The neighing of horses broke through the silence. The crunching of rolling wheels joined. “Your brother, how far do you think he’s managed to flee?”

“Far enough,” she whispered, “I’ve never known Benjen to fail aught he’s set his mind to. You don’t think,” she trailed off.

“Doubtful. They reached us much too speedily.” Of course, it could well be they’d taken the lad to any of the other small groups which had splintered off. He did not point out as much, as it would not help them greatly. Added to which, the murmur of conversation from without was fading. They were not coming towards the barn.

He could almost hear her relief next she spoke. “I gave him coin to send ravens. He’ll not have given up on us, Your-that is, I am sure he hasn’t.”

“You mustn’t call me that, Lyanna dearest.” Her lips quirked gently.

“I shall call you my love then,” the answer came, along with a shiver from him. Would that he were. He nodded. “It is so very strange though. Still and all, I must, mustn’t I?” He could not distinguish anything truly egregious in her voice, but did not know that he enjoyed that particular bit of musing. She took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The touching moment came at an end abruptly when the door was shoved open and the leader of the merry band without came to them. Rhaegar did not see the use in standing, thus held Lyanna down as well, hand settling firmly about her waist in a proprietary gesture, just in case anyone would forgot.

“Look you how comfortable you’ve made yourselves.” The man, whoever he was, had had the benefit of an education, Rhaegar realised, finally acknowledging that he had thus far spoken in plain enough terms, yet not such as one of the smallfolk would. ”Just as well.” The sallow-faced youth came in, two small bowls in hand. “Leave those there, Pin. Our guests shall doubtlessly make good use of them.”

His interference at an end, the man took himself off, Pin at his heels. They were locked within, a desirable enough outcome as far as Rhaegar was concerned. He momentarily left Lyanna so as to pick up the bowls. The thought crossed his mind that even with the help of the smallfolk, rations could not be that very filling. Nonetheless, it was what they’d been given. He handed Lyanna hers.

“Is it safe, do you think, my love?” She did not toy with her food, but eyed it with some concern.

“Have I not told you, Lyanna dearest, we are yet safe. Pray we do not outstay our usefulness.”

* * *

 

It was the pitter-patter of rain that woke him. Rhaegar grunted as the sound chased sleep away. At his side, a warm weight shifted, as though to accommodate the movement he involuntarily made. It took his brain a moment to recall where he was and who was at his side. Not quite awake, he adjusted his grip on her, the hand at her waist following the gentle hollow until it settled at her hip. He ought not to do such a thing for he hadn’t the right, but neither could he bring himself to put distance between them.

For all intents and purposes, he was her husband for the duration of their captivity. But more than that, he had promised himself he’d protect her. Forehead resting against his shoulder, Lyanna mumbled something incomprehensive. He held his breath for he felt sleep’s spell break and heard the harsh intake of breath. Rustling and the cool night air spoke of her rising.

Her hand searched for something, along his chest and upwards. Finally, she settled it at his shoulder, seemingly satisfied with whatever it was that she’d found. No words passed between them. Nor did he give any other sign that he was awake. And before long her breathing evened out, the warmth of it spilling against the side of his neck after she’d repositioned herself.

The rain continued to fall. Rhaegar could not say how long they stayed as they were, he only knew that she did not sleep the whole night through waking every so often as though to check that he’d not left, brushing inquiring little touches along his shoulder. In truth he took comfort from her presence as well, regretting the circumstances rather than the gestures themselves.

* * *

 

A shaft of weak sunlight somehow managed to break through the barrier of walls and a thatched roof. The song of birds accompanied it. Along came the sound of movement without. Rhaegar grunted at a particularly loud disturbance, glancing towards Lyanna to see if it had managed to wake her. Once she had managed to calm down enough that sleep took firm hold, she’d remained in restful repose. At the moment, her fingers were gripping his cloak, but neither movement nor sound seemed to encourage wakefulness.

Reaching out, he brushed back a strand of hair, enjoying the way it felt against his fingers. He drew back guiltily, reminding himself there yet remained good reason to keep from her. A sigh broke the silence. If she had the right of it, her brother would have reached the inn and, with some luck, the ravens would be on their way. Of its own volition his hand returned to Lyanna’s hair, stroking comfortingly when a small whimper rose from her throat. For a moment, he wondered what manner of night terror haunted her. Better that he not know, he supposed, as he could give no true comfort. If all went well, he might reconsider. If she did not choose Storm’s End, that was.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
